


Talking without Speaking

by TheGuardianAngel



Series: the fear of falling apart [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Asperger's Syndrome, Autism Spectrum, Dyslexia, Gen, Sensory Overload, implied/referenced sensory issues, takes place during season 2 episode 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:30:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuardianAngel/pseuds/TheGuardianAngel
Summary: Clementine and Sarah bond over their similarities and learn through their differences.





	Talking without Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> I would like dedicate this to whomever happens to play "Mute Clem" playthroughs, because that is exactly where the inspiration for this oneshot comes from.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not formally diagnosed with Autism or any sort of sensory disorder. I do, however, suffer from sensory overloads and other issues similar to those with Autism or anxiety. This fic was written for mostly entertainment purposes only, and is not meant to speak for or over anyone who actually is formally diagnosed with Autism/any other issue on the spectrum. Thank you.
> 
> The title comes from "The Sound of Silence" by Simon & Garfunkel.
> 
> Hit me up at gortys-and-loaderbot.tumblr.com.

They rush to grab their things when Sarah tells them Carver showed up to the cabin.

Clementine stands in one place, her head thumping as she watches Alvin and Rebecca leave the kitchen to grab all of the supplies that they can. Her own bag is in the living room. Somewhere. She doesn’t really remember where she hastily slung it off.

She hears Sarah’s soft speaking with her father, and Luke trying to speak with an obstinate Nick. Lowering her gaze, Clementine feels a pang of guilt in her chest as she watches all four of them in two separate conversations; concerning Sarah, she knows she should have just run up to the door and locked it. Concerning Nick… well, she thinks of Pete. And only of Pete.

She doesn’t look up to any of them.

“Clementine,” Luke says, turning from Nick to her. “We gotta get our stuff – that bag y’brought back, that’s yours, right?”

Without a verbal answer, she nods, not looking Luke in the eye. She turns to the kitchen door and squeezes past Sarah and Carlos, then eyes the living room.  
She remembers where she left her bag now. She slung it onto the couch. It was against one of the pillows, only a few inches away from the shirt that Carlos left on it. Almost instantly, panic seizes her as she remembers what’s inside of it – her extra clothing, her lighter, her _pictures_ –

Turning on her heel, away from the couch, Clementine races up the stairs and throws open the door to the room she found Sarah in. And all that’s in there is exactly what was in there before; the bed, the empty and discarded pistol, the camera… and not the bag. Not the bag with the only things Clementine has left in it. Not the bag that she’s had since the beginning of this – the only stable and consistent thing she’s actually experienced since the beginning of the outbreak.

 _Don’t ask about it_ , her head tells her. _They’ll just think you’re annoying and needy_.

“Who’s bag is this, Bec? It was downstairs –”

The voice belongs to Alvin, and it’s coming from one of the other bedrooms.  
Taking in a deep breath, part of Clementine wants to know why Alvin and Rebecca are in one of the upstairs bedrooms when theirs is downstairs. But she ignores this thought – maybe they’re getting Nick’s things or something – and tries to think, _seriously think_ , of what else other than her bag that could be.

Clementine tears out of Sarah’s room and finds herself lingering in the doorway of Nick and Luke’s room. Rebecca is in the corner, loading a rifle, while Alvin’s hands are exactly – she gets a strong urge to smack her head against Alvin’s when she sees this – where they should not be. Inside of her bag. He’s got the _pictures_.

Her own family photograph from when she was only six years old. Lee’s torn photograph. The drawing of Lee digging that grave – that horrible, pitiful grave for that poor little boy in Savannah. The drawing of Kenny and his family. Every other little doodle she’s drawn in the last two years.

“What are you _doing_?” Clementine nearly shouts this when she really intends to simply ask it. But fury at having her private possessions _rifled_ through is more intense than her will to stay quiet.

Alvin looks up, eyes widened, and sets down the bag on the floor with a, “What?” He looks… _genuinely confused_ on why she’s upset. He sets the pictures and the photographs on top of the bag and puts his hands up – possibly as a sign of surrender.

Clementine races to where the bag sits, snatching it up off of the ground, and throws the photographs and the drawings back into the bag as quickly as she can, her cheeks flushing red. With an unintentional snarl, she shouts, “ _Don’t – touch my – THINGS!”_  
Anger races in and out of her head, too fast for her to stop and think that what she’s doing and saying is wrong – it’s not, right?

“Clementine!” snaps Rebecca, looking surprised.

“What the hell are you doin’?” asks Alvin, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. “You don’t have to yell at me over it! I’m sorry!”

But Clementine holds the bag tightly to her chest as she races from the room, heart hammering as her mind immediately goes over and over what she just said. Regret slams into her at full force, her gaze turning to the floor as she clenches her teeth.

Oh, _why_ did she have to yell at him?

She clenches her fist tightly, staring down to the floor as she starts to make her way back downstairs. Alvin’s and Rebecca’s voices echo from the other room, neither sounding too happy.

“What’s her problem?”

“Well, _you_ walk in and see someone diggin’ through your shit… how the hell do you react?”

“Still.”

There’s a pause. Clementine stops on the stairs as well, trying her best to block out the rest of the group downstairs and in the hallways of the house as they scramble around for their belongings and supplies. Rebecca’s voice returns, albeit lowered, as she responds to Alvin’s retort.

“Did you hear what Luke and Pete said yesterday?” Clementine arches her eyebrows, wanting to know exactly _what_ it was that Luke and Pete said. Apparently, Alvin must have shaken his head in reply, because Rebecca sighs and continues, “She’s… _strange_. Luke thinks she’s autistic or somethin’. So I guess it’s… justified or some shit.”

‘Autistic’ is not a word she’s familiar with. Clementine doesn’t even want to think about what it means; she instead bites the inside of her mouth, also biting back her own retort. She wonders to herself, briefly, if _autistic_ is supposed to be an insult. They’ve already called her _strange_ , why not _freak_?

It isn’t like it’s the first time she’s been called _freak_ , or _stupid_ , or a _retard_.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the arguing between the others becomes apparent. There’s yelling that Clementine doesn’t care to listen to, there’s Nick and Luke going back and forth over something she doesn’t care about, and there’s Carlos telling them both to shut up.

And then there’s Sarah.

There’s Sarah in the middle of it – Clementine can hear her the clearest, especially when she hears the girl shout. The scream that comes from her goes through Clementine like physical pain. Not only because of fear but because of sympathy.

“Stop!” is the first thing Sarah says, her voice wracked with anguish. “ _STOP, PLEASE!”_

Clementine stops at the bottom of the stairs. The kitchen door swings open, and Sarah runs from the kitchen with her hands covering her ears, her eyes only partially open.  
She crashes past Clementine with immense force, knocking into the girl so hard that she has to grab the railing to avoid falling from the bottom step.

Sarah thunders upstairs, leaving Clementine alone on the steps until Carlos comes out of the kitchen out after her.

“Did Sarah - ?” He takes a deep breath, looking to Clementine with an expression that she thinks may be one of devastation, possibly sadness. “Did Sarah go upstairs?”

Clementine nods, turning away from Carlos and looking upstairs, past the landing. Any sign of Sarah would be a good one, but she doesn’t see the girl at all.

“Is she… _okay_?”

“She’s having a moment.” sighs Carlos, crossing his arms. Neither of them look at each other for several seconds, until he continues, “She’s all right, Clem, she just gets overwhelmed sometimes.” Without another word, Carlos starts up the stairs after his daughter, leaving Clementine alone.

She’s curious for a moment. The language he used seems simplified – it seemed less like Sarah was overwhelmed, and more like she was panicking. Of course, Clementine remembers Sarah’s near-panic when Carver showed up, but that seemed… _different_.

This seems more complex, almost.

* * *

When Clementine makes her way back upstairs, she goes up quietly and cautiously. Alvin and Rebecca both make their ways downstairs, while Nick and Luke file up and down, now only making quiet quips at each other instead of their full out arguing.

She finds Carlos leaving the room he and Sarah seemed to have stayed in. The one where she found Sarah both this morning and last night. He gives her a look with an eyebrow raised, but doesn’t seem too overly concerned about her.

Listening intently, Clementine hears nothing from the room she assumes Sarah is in. Passing Carlos with no words exchanged between them, she goes straight up to the door and then hesitates.

She doesn’t want to make Sarah’s mood worse. She doesn’t want to trigger something else – if Sarah felt upset enough from whatever happened in the kitchen, then maybe there is a chance that just talking to Clementine will make it worse, and that’s the last thing she wants to do.

Even if Sarah seems a bit… _sheltered_ … well, Clementine likes the girl. There’s a four year age gap between them, but Sarah’s the first person in her age range she’s seen in much too long. And, of course, she and Sarah bonded over a mutual like of books that morning.

Slowly, Clementine places her palm on the door. It isn’t fully shut by now. With a deep breath, she pushes open the door to see Sarah sitting next to the bed.

Sarah looks up, her knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes seem almost glazed over as they examine Clementine with a small interest behind her glasses. She takes a deep breath, almost a sigh, and doesn’t meet Clementine’s eyes or face.

“Um… Sarah?”

Clementine takes an unsteady step into the room, shutting the door behind her. She bites the inside of her mouth, wracking her brain for something she can say that won’t upset her friend any more than she already is.

“Are you… okay?”

They’re the only words she can think of to say. Nothing else sounds anywhere near as professional or logical – everything else sounds silly, or stupid coming from her. Although a part of her does regret asking Sarah this; what else is Sarah going to say but _yes_?

Truthfully, Clementine has never really understood why that’s something people ask if they’re only looking for a fib.

Slowly, Sarah nods, then sighs. After a moment of silence, she says in a small voice, “I’m-I’m okay.”

There’s more silence between them. Clementine finds herself sitting on the carpet a few feet away, trying to find anywhere to look but Sarah.  
Sarah seems to be attempting the same thing, breathing deeply with her eyes closed. Then, without warning, she continues, “Thanks for… for checking on me, Clem.”

Clementine nods, and adds a small, “You’re welcome.” to the conversation.

Sarah hesitates for a moment. “I just… I just got kind of overwhelmed.”

There’s that term again. _Overwhelmed_. Clementine wonders to herself if it means what she thinks it means – maybe it’s the lack of ability to take everything in at one point. The one difficult thing about words, Clementine thinks, is that there are many words she can understand with no problem; she just can’t explain them. And for her, putting the term _overwhelmed_ into words feels strange, because she barely even knows what it means. She and words, letters, and numbers have never really gotten along.

This is no exception.

“That’s…” Clementine bites her lip, looking away. “That’s okay.”

“I just _hate it_ when they fight.” Sarah pipes up, crossing her arms. Her gaze meets the floor as she leans back against the bed.

Nodding, Clementine responds in earnest, “Me too.”

And Sarah continues, closing her eyes tightly.  
“I just wish they would _talk_ things out instead of yelling.” She’s breathing deeply by now, in a way that makes Clementine uncomfortable; it’s difficult to tell if Sarah is angry or if she’s trying to calm herself down by taking deep breaths.

“Do they fight a lot?”

The question is genuine. Clementine has seen them in action for only two days – just barely. Maybe this is a fluke; maybe they don’t normally fight this much and Sarah is just speaking generally. That she _generally_ hates it when they fight; maybe they _don’t_ fight often but she hates it when they do.

Sarah sighs, looking up. “Sometimes.” she murmurs, “Usually it’s _Nick_ who starts it… but sometimes Luke or my dad or Rebecca get mad.” Looking away, she continues with, “It’s just too much going on. And Nick is… _really_ mad and upset because of what happened to Pete.”

Her sad look is what makes guilt rise up in Clementine like a poisonous snake.

“I’m _sorry_.”

Sarah’s expression seems to be showing genuine confusion. Clementine assumes this anyway, when the other asks very suddenly, “Why?” as if she really doesn’t have any idea as to why Clementine is apologizing.

She thinks about Pete and the noises he made down at the river when she ran to Nick. When she left him – unintentionally, of course – to be attacked and to be eaten. Because he _had_ been eaten. And she followed Nick out of the clearing and into the forest. She remembers the slurred words pierced her mind like a dagger.

_How come you left my uncle?_

“I couldn’t save Pete.”

Neither of them speak for several seconds. Only the sounds of the rest of the group walking back and forth are audible. Clementine thinks briefly that she may have struck a chord with Sarah. She doesn’t know how close the two of _them_ were – for all she knows, Sarah could have had the same kind of relationship with Pete that Nick and Luke had, minus the fighting of course.

“That’s not your fault, Clem.”

Clementine shrugs. Neither of them look at each other, Clementine especially. She rakes her bottom teeth across the inside of her cheek and mutters, “I just wanted to keep everything from going wrong.” Her voice is hoarser than anticipated. More… _emotion-filled_ than she wants it to be, but she finds herself unable to stop. “When things go wrong, people get mad.” She scoffs for a moment, before continuing again with, “I mean, sometimes when people get mad, I don’t why. I know why _now_ , but other times…”

Sarah seems almost surprised when she takes in Clementine words. In a tone that Clementine perceives as surprised – and hopefully not sarcastic, she says, “… Really? I’m like that too.”

With Clementine, this takes her by surprise. The way she’s seen other people, they all seem to have most things figured out, at least conversation-wise. Even if they can’t figure out how to shoot a gun, they still seem to be able to read other people’s minds.

“People are just… _really_ hard to understand, sometimes.”

Nodding along, Sarah seems almost intrigued. “Sometimes I feel like they expect me to be able to read their minds – like I’m psychic or something.” She pauses for a moment, and while Clementine nods along, Sarah doesn’t speak for several seconds. “You know… before the outbreak, I had a therapist who wanted me to learn how to identify people’s feelings by their behavior.”

Clementine doesn’t have a chance to respond before Sarah interrupts, as if she wants to clarify something.

“I-I mean by body language.” Sarah stammers, “I… I know what they’re feeling if someone’s…” She looks away. “You know, if they’re pointing a _gun_ at someone.” With a small sigh, she continues with, “My old therapist wanted me to ‘read between the lines’ to be able to figure out what they mean.”

“Why’d you have to go to a therapist?”

Sarah hesitates, averting eye contact. Then, in a small voice, she mutters, “I have… _problems._ ”

Nodding, Clementine bites her lip. “Okay… what do you mean?”

“Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

Part of Clementine wonders why Sarah thinks she’ll make fun of her, but then she thinks of her own past experiences. People are horrible creatures and seem to find pleasure in hurting others. She remembers her own experiences in school of having other kids laugh at her or throw mulch at her on the playground because they thought she was _weird_ , or they thought she was… many, _many_ different things.

With a small smile, she says in quiet voice, “We pinky-swore this morning. We’re friends, right?” A nod from Sarah and a small smile is what she gets in return. “Friends don’t make fun of each other.”

Sarah’s smile doesn’t disappear. Her response is quiet, but sounds assured. “You’re right…” Another pause meets them as the smile disappears and she continues with, “When I was six, I didn’t really… _talk_ a lot.”

“Okay…”

“I didn’t _start_ talking till I was three.” Sarah hugs her knees closer to her chest as Clementine tries her best to focus her attention on the other girl. And Sarah’s words remind her of herself.

Clementine shrugs, suddenly realizing that even if she plays it off like it’s nothing, it obviously isn’t. In a low voice, she responds, “I didn’t talk until I was two.”

“I was underweight because I could really only eat three things. The _textures_ of pretty much everything else made me want to puke. And the smell. I just… I got upset really easily over that kind of thing.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

Clementine nods for her to continue.

Sarah’s face reddens as she faces Clementine. “My dad took me to a child psychologist.” An unsteady sigh emits from her. “And… they told him I have Asperger’s Syndrome.”

To Clementine, the name ‘Asperger’s Syndrome’ sounds like some kind of genetic defect or disease. She wonders briefly if Sarah expects her to know what it is – and for that, she wracks her brain, trying to think back to every single time her mother ever mentioned any kind of medical disorder.

Promptly, she falls flat.

“What’s that?”

“Have you ever hear of Autism?”

She freezes the moment Sarah’s words hit her, thinking back to what Alvin and Rebecca were talking about earlier; how Alvin implied that she was overreacting to him going through her bag, and how Rebecca replied that she heard Luke talking about something like that.

_She’s… strange. Luke thinks she’s autistic or somethin’. So I guess it’s… justified or some shit._

Slowly, Clementine shakes her head.

“It’s kind of like that, but… I guess… not as bad?”

“What does it _mean_?” asks Clementine, squinting. She crosses her arms as she tries her best to listen to Sarah’s words, instead of focusing on Rebecca’s.

Sarah hesitates for a moment, wringing her hands. “I have a hard time understanding people,” she explains, sounding as if she’s forcing the words out. “Sometimes things get really intense. And sometimes I just… I dunno. It’s hard to explain. It makes it really hard for me to communicate with people. Sometimes I just can’t talk.”

Again, Clementine freezes when she hears Sarah’s words. She thinks of every single time in her life when she’s felt herself shut down. When she’s felt those words dry up. All of those times when she urged herself to talk without really speaking – because there was no other way to communicate. Her heart hammers as she feel her face grow hot at the realization.

Sarah doesn’t even seem to notice. She continues on with a sigh. “So I used to see a therapist for it. And I had to have help at school sometimes.”

Suddenly, Clementine remembers the few times she was sent to a reading specialist in kindergarten and first grade. She remembers asking the teachers, _How can you read when the letters are floating around_? She remembers all of the taunting from other kids when she was supposed to read out loud and found that she couldn’t.

“I used to have that too.” Sarah looks up when she says this, but Clementine continues on, “I can’t read as well as other people. And sometimes things are really confusing, like you said. I don’t… really see things the way other people do I guess. I dunno.”

Sarah nods, like she’s putting the pieces together, just as Clementine is. “Maybe… you have it too.”

“I dunno.”

“My dad thought I had because he’s a doctor and he saw signs.”

“My mom was a doctor.” Clementine finds herself mumbling. She crosses her arms tightly, thinking of every time her mother ever mentioned children she worked with. “She never thought anything was wrong with me.”

“Maybe she did and she just never said anything.”

Sarah’s words are rather blunt, in a way that Clementine doesn’t exactly appreciate. Part of her wants to believe Sarah – maybe this _is_ finally an explanation for things that sometimes make her think she’s losing her mind, or that she’s been left out of a special “Social Skills for Dummies” class.

But on the other hand, the implications that her mother didn’t care enough – those are less likely for her to believe.

“Why would she do _that_?”

Sarah shrugs. “I dunno. People are weird. My dad said he used to see a lot of parents who were in denial or something about illnesses and stuff.”

“Why?”

Another shrug.

“People are weird,” Clementine concludes, crossing her arms, half-way between a laugh and scoff. “People are _really_ , _really_ weird.”

Sarah nods, grinning, and chuckles out, “And they say _we’re_ the weird ones. They have _no_ idea!”


End file.
